


through the years we all will be together (if the fates allow)

by blondsak



Series: Irondad Bingo Fics [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Drowning, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Protective Pepper Potts, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, yes I defenestrated canon again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:53:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21794848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/pseuds/blondsak
Summary: A day of ice skating with the Starks in Central Park turns dangerous when Peter discovers a bomb in a duffel bag. (Irondad bingo: hypothermia)
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Irondad Bingo Fics [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1458253
Comments: 60
Kudos: 706





	through the years we all will be together (if the fates allow)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArdenSkyeHolmes221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArdenSkyeHolmes221/gifts).



> This fic goes out to [ArdenSkyeHolmes221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArdenSkyeHolmes221/pseuds/), one of the sweetest, kindest people in irondad. Congratulations on your promotion, lovely!! <3

Peter lands gracefully back on the ice after executing a near-perfect double salchow, only slightly embarrassed by the way Tony is whooping over in the stands.

“Do another one, Petey! Another one!”

Peter twists around on his skates to where Pepper and Morgan are slowly making their way over, hand in hand, Morgan nearly tripping over herself in her excitement.

“I'm sorry, Momo - but there’s a lot of people out here today, and I don’t want to accidentally hurt anyone jumping around.”

“But–”

“Peter promised he would do three tricks for you, sweetheart, and he did,” Pepper says gently, Morgan looking over at her with a frown. “But I bet if you ask nicely he’ll do as many as you want at the lake next weekend.”

Morgan’s pout turns back to a grin she as looks up at Peter, eyes bright with excitement. “Please, Petey?”

Peter smiles, taking Morgan’s open hand as the three of them blend back in with the crowd of skaters. “Sure thing, kiddo.”

It was the Saturday before Christmas, and the group of four was at Wollman Rink in Central Park. Peter had suggested the outing at breakfast that morning after Tony had mentioned conversationally that they’d signed Morgan up for skating lessons in the spring. Pepper and Morgan had readily agreed but it was Tony who had looked at Peter with not a small hint of concern.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit too cold out for ice skating, Pete?” he’d asked, Peter knowing what he really meant.

“I’ll be just fine, Mister Stark,” Peter had replied with a smile. “I have the heated jacket you gave me, after all.”

“Well, that’s not going to help if your jeans get soaked from falling all over the ice, kid,” Tony retorted, taking another bite of bacon.

“I can manage, don’t worry,” Peter assured, smirking as he dug back into his omelette.

What Tony didn't know was that Peter had in fact taken four years of skating lessons from the third to seventh grades, only giving it up when he’d gotten closer with Ned and his interests shifted to other after-school activities like Academic Decathlon and Robotics Club.

He didn’t reveal anything until they were at the rink - letting a simple axel trick do all the talking for him - to the impressed amazement of all three Starks. And so, what had started as just something to do with the rest of their morning had turned into quite the event, Christmas music blasting out of large speakers as Morgan begged Peter to do more tricks even as the rink filled to near capacity.

Tony had only spent about fifteen minutes skating before retreating to the sidelines. It didn’t take much to tire him out these days, even months after his prolonged visit to Wakanda’s best burn unit had healed up the last of his scar tissue, a result of his Snap and the final defeat of Thanos.

Tony hadn’t said as much but Peter suspected the man’s center of balance on skates was a little off too, what with the custom-made high-tech metal arm he sported these days.

For a little while there the doctors hadn’t been sure a day like this would ever happen - Peter getting to spend time with Pepper, Morgan _and_ his mentor. Yet Tony had pulled through just like Iron Man always did, and now here they were seven months later, skating on a rink together in Central Park.

“How about we go into the warming house for some hot cocoa?” Pepper says after they’ve been on the ice for over an hour. She doesn’t say as much but Peter suspects she didn’t miss the way he had started shivering. Even the heated jacket was no match after a while for his body’s inability to properly thermoregulate.

“Just five more minutes?” Morgan asks, looking between Pepper and Peter. _“Please?”_

Pepper looks to Peter who simply nods at her, before addressing Morgan. “How about you and I keep skating just until your mom comes back with the cocoa. Deal?”

“Deal!” Morgan says, immediately taking Peter’s hand and pulling him along as Pepper carefully skates her way among the crowd toward the rink exit nearest Tony. Peter sees the two of them talk for a moment before Pepper heads for the warming house. He has a feeling he knows what they discussed when after another lap he makes eye contact with Tony, who immediately crosses his arms and makes an exaggerated _brrrr!_ motion, eyebrows raised.

Peter just shakes his head, smiling. He _is_ feeling the cold, it’s true - but he can make it a few more minutes without issue, especially if he’s moving around.

They’ve circled the rink twice more when Peter feels it - another shiver, but this time not from the cold. He’s immediately alert, gripping Morgan’s hand a bit tighter as he looks around with scrutinizing eyes, trying to locate the threat. But all he sees are happy couples and content families.

Closing his eyes for a second Peter hones in on his danger sense, letting it direct him instead of the other way around. When he opens them he immediately looks to the left, and there it is - a large black duffel bag sitting on one of the bottom benches of the observation stand, about twenty feet from Tony. Although it’s surrounded by people it appears to be abandoned, nobody keeping an eye on or even glancing at it.

“Hey Momo, I think I need a rest. Do you mind if we go over to your dad?” Peter says, already slowly gliding toward the outer edges of the rink.

“Okay,” Morgan says simply, not arguing even though Peter can tell she wants to. After another lap they’re easily able to make it to the exit, Peter leaning over to quickly undo Morgan’s skate laces so she can put on her boots. He pulls off his own but doesn’t bother with his own shoes as Morgan runs over to Tony who immediately takes her into his lap with a grin. But his smile fades when he glances up and notices Peter’s worried expression, eyes mounting even more concern when Peter stalks right past him and over to the abandoned bag.

His senses are practically screaming at him to run as he starts to unzip the bag just enough to peer inside.

The first thing he notices is a timer, currently at 117 seconds and counting down. He blanches as he takes in the rest of the contents and yeah, no wonder his senses were screaming.

It’s a bomb. Homemade almost certainly, but looking at the amount of explosives rigged to it still easily capable of taking out everyone in the stands and perhaps the entire rink. Peter looks up to see Tony standing with Morgan by his side at the bottom of the benches, and staring at Peter with a look that morphs from general concern to terror as he takes in Peter’s expression.

_It’s a bomb it’s a bomb it’s a bomb–_

Peter doesn’t think, just moves. He zips up the duffel before before grabbing it by the handles and racing down the stairs to the ground level.

“Call the police,” he tells Tony, trying to keep his voice low.

“Peter, what–”

Tony tries to grab him by the shoulder but Peter twists out of the man's grip.

_No time no time no time–_

"Tell me what's-"

“It’s a bomb,” Peter says, voice wavering.

“Jesus,” Tony breathes, going pale as he looks down at the duffel. “We have to get everyone out–”

“There’s no time,” Peter hisses. “There’s a timer, it’s– and this place is packed with kids– I have to go– get it away–”

Tony’s gaze turns to steel as he immediately tries to grab the duffel out of Peter’s hands, but Peter wrenches it away.

“Peter, let me–”

“No way,” Peter says, already walking backwards and away, trusting his senses to guide him.

“Kid, you can’t–”

“No, Tony,” Peter says forcefully, employing a rare use of the man’s first name. “You don’t even have a suit.”

Tony’s expression turns a mix of furious and desperate in response.

“To hell with that, now give it to–”

“I’ll be okay,” Peter promises, and with that he twists on his heels before Tony can try to stop him, weaving as quickly as he can through the crowd, intent on getting to a more remote area of the park.

He’s only in his socks and just like Tony he doesn’t have his suit on but none of that matters– the only thing that matters is getting the bomb away from as many people as possible.

Peter nearly slips on the slick surface of the park sidewalk as he runs, grateful that due to the cold it seems there aren’t many people out walking. A vague plan is forming in his mind but the countdown in his head - _87, 86, 85_ \- tells him that if he doesn’t use everything he’s got he won’t make it to safety before the bomb explodes.

He’s down to about seventy seconds when he reaches his destination - the pond in the southeast corner of the park. It’s technically closer to the busy Manhattan streets but at least there’s nobody in sight as he stumbles out onto the ice.

His feet are wet and freezing as they sink into the half-foot of snow covering the ice, but still he doesn’t slow down. Only once he’s about fifty feet out does he stop and set the duffel down, heart racing from his mad dash and sheer adrenaline.

Frantically he clears off a patch of snow before grabbing at the end of his right jacket sleeve with his fingers and making a fist. He raises his arm and doesn’t hesitate to slam it into the ice as hard as he can, the glazed surface immediately cracking beneath him.

Peter feels something in his hand fracture on the second punch, but the pain barely registers. On the third he breaks through, his arm dipping into the freezing water over and over as he enlarges the hole, keeping his knees as splayed as possible to distribute his weight.

When it’s finally big enough he fumbles for the duffel - _46, 45, 44_ \- and promptly drops it in the pond. It immediately sinks from the weight of the device, and Peter can only hope that the water, ice and wet snow will aid in sufficiently containing any shrapnel.

His task completed, Peter stumbles to his feet. His danger sense won’t stop yelling at him and perhaps that’s why he realizes too late that the warning is no longer about the bomb.

He makes it two steps before there’s the sharp sound of ice cracking, and Peter doesn’t even have time to cry out before he’s through the ice and underwater.

The sheer _cold_ that assaults him is unlike anything Peter’s ever felt before. Ten thousand needles prick at every inch of his skin as the shock and pain chisel into his brain, carving out any sense of thoughtful reason and instead leaving only blind panic.

His right arm is already numb so he reaches up his left one to search for the edge of the hole, but feels only ice. Frantically he tries to punch through it but his movements are uncoordinated and weak, the near-freezing temperature of the water already managing to disable him after no more than ten seconds.

_32, 31, 30–_

Peter keeps feeling around above him, kicking out clumsily. He hadn’t had a chance to take a full breath before he’d fallen through, and his lungs are starting to burn.

He feels around as much as he can but the opening eludes him. As he strains to hold back the need to take a breath, it occurs - _truly_ occurs - to Peter that he may very well die. Even if he somehow managed to get out of the pond before the explosion, he’d never make it far enough away from the blast radius in this state.

Yet the thought somehow doesn’t scare him as much as it probably should. Slowly his movements diminish until he’s just floating, the crown of his head bobbing against the ice. Distantly Peter’s aware that he’s about to die, but the ability to panic - to even think - eludes him.

_11, 10, 9–_

Just as Peter is about to fall into the peaceful abyss of unconsciousness, he feels metal arms wrap around his middle. He doesn’t even fight as he’s pulled through the water, and as soon as his head breaks the surface he’s hacking, taking in big, stilted gulps of air even as the sharp crispness of the winter day sears his heaving lungs.

Peter’s still coughing weakly as he blinks his eyes open, vision whiting out for a second before everything comes into focus, and he realizes he's being carried by Rescue.

“Hang on, kid. I’ve got you,” Pepper says as the mask lifts up, looking down at him in concern as she flies them up into the air.

Just then there’s a massive explosion at their backs, snow and ice and pond water reaching for the sky before raining down all over them.

_Oh, right. The bomb._

Peter doesn’t have the bandwidth to think any harder about it as he lazily blinks up at Pepper, snowflakes clinging to his eyelashes. He feels warm now, which he's pretty sure doesn't make sense – wasn’t he just cold?

It doesn’t really matter, Peter decides as he closes his eyes. He’s too sleepy to worry anymore… maybe if he just rests for a bit…

“Eyes open, sweetheart. You gotta stay awake, okay? Peter!”

Peter wants to listen to the voice, he really does. But try as he might, he falls into the beckoning darkness of the abyss anyway.

* * *

The first thing Peter registers upon waking is warmth. He shifts a little, feeling a soft, gentle pressure covering his body. It’s cozy and safe and reminds him of a cocoon. He’s about to burrow deeper and drift back into his dreams when–

“Kid? You awake?”

Peter blinks his eyes open, looking around. He’s in the guest room of Tony and Pepper’s penthouse, wearing nothing but his boxers and what feels like fuzzy socks, and covered by no less than four heated blankets.

“Hey, you.”

Peter twists his head to see Tony next to him on the double bed, propped up against the headboard with a tablet in his lap.

“Thank god you’re awake,” Tony said, fixing Peter with what he jokingly referred to as Tony’s ‘Mad Dad Stare.’ “I was getting tired of waiting to tell you off for the stunt you pulled today.”

 _Stunt?_ Peter thinks, before it all comes rushing back to him. He starts to sit up, only to wince when he tries to put pressure on his right hand.

“Did it– is anyone–”

“Nobody got hurt but you, kid,” Tony assures him, even as his expression remains a mix of concerned and pissed off. “I’ll admit, two broken knuckles and a case of mild hypothermia don’t even break your top ten injuries, but I’m not exactly pleased about them either.”

“There was no other option,” Peter says simply, sinking back down into the bed when a slight shiver races through him. “And don’t just say I should have given it to you, Mister Stark. Not only did you not have a suit but you’re still technically in recovery. It made way more sense for it to be me.”

Tony looks away at that, working his jaw. Despite the tension, Peter is content to let the silence linger. He knows how much the man hates that he can’t wear the suits anymore– his body no longer strong enough to wield them with the required finesse.

“I just hate that I can’t protect you like I want to– like I _need_ to,” Tony finally says. He looks back down at Peter, reaching out and pushing a curl out of Peter's eyes with his real arm, resting his palm gently on Peter’s crown.

“Watching you disappear with a bomb tucked at your side, only to see the explosion from the rink and not know if you were okay… I haven’t felt that helpless since Titan, underoos,” Tony says, voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t ever want to watch you leave my sight like that again, but I’m terrified I might have to.”

“I’m okay, Mister Stark,” Peter says, reaching up with his good hand to pull Tony’s down from his head onto his chest, clasping their fingers together. He knows better than to reassure Tony that his fears won’t come to pass– there is simply too much danger and chaos in the world for Peter to promise that. But he can at least provide comfort.

Tony looks down at their hands, giving Peter’s fingers a tiny squeeze that Peter knows is the man’s unspoken way of saying thank you.

They’re both safe and for now, at least, that’s enough.

“Morgan’s decided she wants to be a figure skater when she grows up,” Tony says after a few moments, smirking a bit. ”Two guesses as to who she’s elected to be her coach.”

“Olympics 2040, here we come,” Peter slurs out with a yawn, feeling the pull of sleep again. He lets his eyes drift shut as Tony begins to gently stroke his thumb over Peter’s own, a small gesture but one that reminds Peter how cared for and loved he is. “Might have to wait a few weeks to start her training regimen though– I’m kinda sick of the cold.”

“You and me both, kid. You and me both.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are most appreciated. Also feel free to message me on [tumblr](https://blondsak.tumblr.com)!


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